


Timeless Prompts: Ficlet Series

by Scarlett_Peacock



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Ficlet Series, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Timeless Season 2 Deleted Scenes, lyatt, prompt based ficlets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:15:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlett_Peacock/pseuds/Scarlett_Peacock
Summary: Ficlets based on a line of dialogue, prompt or headcanon for Timeless. Potential spoilers for anyone not caught up with season two.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet One: A Voice In The Night  
> Following the aftermath of Salem and Lucy's injury. 
> 
> Note: These are not beta'd pieces so apologies for any errors.

The tension is almost palpable upon their return from Salem. They are all filled in, all introduced to Jessica. She smiles, making jokes about the madness of the situation. They half-heartedly return their own. When Lucy tentatively shakes her hand, she falls into a faint. Wyatt shouts her name and rushes forward in a panic, but Flynn gets to her first. For the first time since they met he is pushed away from her, and Wyatt thinks the pang of pain that hits him could cut him in two. 

Lucy is taken to her room, a crowd following her. Jiya and Agent Christopher check her over - she’s running a fever, her arm is violently swollen and beads of cold sweat run down her forehead. Christopher and Jiya remain while the rest are banished. Jiya sees the look on Wyatt’s face, the panic in his eyes and the shaking of his hands. He is terrified beyond measure - more terrified than she has ever seen him. She makes note, telling herself she needs to speak with Rufus later. 

Jiya and Christopher act as her medics for the remainder of the evening until finally, in the middle of the night, the fever breaks. Christopher orders Jiya to sleep, leaving the room herself. Peace falls on the room, but down the corridor, a storm brews. 

Wyatt Logan spends one of the worst nights of his life with his heart thrumming like a V8 engine, knowing down the corridor, Lucy Preston could be dying for all he knew and it was his fault. He’d run off to find his wife. There are possibilities, choices and regrets whirring around his mind so quickly that finally he removes himself from his bed, walks silently from his room and from his wife, to Lucy’s bedside. 

When he arrives he sneaks past Jiya, sitting on the cold floor with a heart heavy and his nerves shot. Lucy is pale and cold, she looks as though she were a corpse beneath the green blankets. The only sign of life is the rise and fall of her chest. He takes her hand in his, her fingertips chilled to the bone. He stares at her, his chin wobbling with the mounting emotion. He rubs his fingers over the knuckles of her hand, desperate to reach out - take her into his arms and apologise a thousand times over. His heart is breaking with joy and heartache. A new opportunity snuffed out like a candle flame.

No words come for the rest of the night until finally, the chirp of an alarm clock sounds down the hall. The morning is creeping in, and with the morning comes the waking of his team. 

He reluctantly stands. 

Wyatt Logan knows that no-one can know of this night, of the sight of him terrified beyond comprehension. He leans forward, and into the quiet of the world presses a lingering kiss to her temple and speaks a truth he dared not admit to himself. 

_“I love you, Lucy.”_

Hours later, Lucy wakes to a hand holding hers. She is sure she heard his voice, felt the solidness of his body near hers. She is sure Wyatt Logan would not leave her. 

_“Wyatt?”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet Two: A Clandestine Kiss   
> Something I'd like to see in the finale - based off the prompt "if we get a clandestine Lucy/Wyatt kiss how do you think we'll get it." 
> 
> Note: These are not beta'd pieces, apologies for any errors.

 

The air is ridden with dust and a strangling heat. Everything has gone wrong. They are exposed on all sides – and the looming fear that the Rittenhouse agents searching for them are getting closer and closer is drowning them.  
  


Wyatt has just managed to keep hold of Lucy during the scramble during the shoot-out, dragging her into some half-boarded building off the main street. Jiya and Rufus are God knows where, and they’re both hoping they’ve managed to evade the future had foretold.   
  


There are guns firing, minor explosions and voices raised. The building creaks around them. Neither dare move for the moment, pinned to one another’s side with hands grasping the other. Wyatt has been afraid on a mission before, so has Lucy – but only once had they felt the hopelessness they do in this moment. With each gunfire, Lucy flinches. With each sound voice that passes near, Wyatt holds her tighter. Moments like these are the ones that make you think about the decisions you’ve made, and the only one they can think of is the wasted time between them.   
  


Wyatt breaks his silence first. In hushed tones he makes his peace; apologising for giving up, for not valuing their bond and not thinking about the repercussions of his actions. He apologises for hurting her, for turning away when he had promised he would be by her side. He tells her that he looked for love in a doomed past, one he had idolised beyond the realm of reality, when really, he should have talked to her properly. He is sorry – sorrier than he’s been in his life – for waiting until now to finally say so.   
  


Lucy is stunned into silence. Her heart is pounding violently against her chest, her head is pounding with a headache fuelled by dehydration and fear. She whispers she is sorry she wasn’t honest about how she felt, and sorry that part of her didn’t fight for what she wanted. She confesses she blamed him for the longest time, but now all she wants to do is find peace between them. She asks that they are honest now, in the moments that might be their last.   
  


In a moment of pause, he nods in agreement. Mouths open and finally, together, they speak the words they have both longed to hear from the other. Lines of tears streak their faces, cutting through their dirt spattered skin. The relief is almost palpable between them. The muscles of her chin tremble, and he takes huffing breaths of air.   
  


Her hands move to his face, and his to hers. They lean together, foreheads touching until finally, in this unholy hour, amidst desolate land and almost certain death – they find spectacular oblivion in one another. This kiss is heavy with heart, soul and fear. It is heavy with the weeks they spent apart pining for the other, fighting the desire to run and fall to their knees begging for absolution for sins of the heart.   
  


This day is not over, not yet – and by God do they hope they get to live through it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet three: 'Screwed Over'  
> Set during episode 207, based off the prompt "What would Wyatt have said to Lucy after she tells him “So I would really appreciate it if you would stop acting like you are the one who got screwed” had she not cut him off?" 
> 
> Note I: These are not beta'd pieces, apologies for any errors.

**_“So I would really appreciate it if you would stop acting like you are the one who got screwed!”_ **

He’s stunned into silence by her statement, shaken to the core. He finally speaks, half stammering.

“That’s not fair.” 

Lucy’s eyes open wide, anger pumping through her veins with each beat of her heart. She straightens, taking a step toward him.

“Not fair? Are you kidding me right now, Wyatt!?”

“Do you think I wanted this to happen!?” He fires back, eyes blazing.

“Do I think you wanted your wife back!?” The tone of her voice is sharp, filled with disbelief. Her hands fold into frustrated fists. “Or do you think I wanted to lose the one person I had left!? Take a guess, Wyatt!”

“There’s no honour in what I’m doing, Lucy!” Wyatt throws his hands in the air, exasperated beyond comprehension. “There’s no honour in sleeping beside one woman and burning –  _aching_ , needing to be with another!”

Lucy feels herself growing more enraged, words caught in her throat buried under ache and rage. This is not the place or time for this conversation, but here they find themselves.

“I’ve forfeited any right to loving you, to a damned future with you because of a decision that was made by circumstance! You damn well told me to go, Lucy! I did what you asked me to!” He paces on the spot, she stands rigid.

The wobble to her voice betrays her attempt at maintaining composure.

“Are you really blaming me? You’re unbelievable!”

She turns on the spot, walking immediately in the opposite direction toward the march. The scars left behind by the last weeks have split, reopening as weeping wounds. He chases after her, stumbling on his own feet. Wyatt can count on one hand the times he has said something to Lucy that has injured her – this takes the count to six.

“Do you think I wanted to walk away from you!? From what we’d started!?”

“Do you think I wanted you to walk away!?” She turns again, expression blazing with anger and blinding hurt. “I wanted you, Wyatt! I still damn well want you! But I will not take you away from your wife, I won’t get in the way of your happiness! I’m not that woman!”

Their chests are huffing with gasping breaths, hearts torn wide open on this New York street. They are jealous, broken, frustrated and filled with a blinding longing that has finally come to its head. The life around them has stilled, and finally, like a cataract of water, the truth comes rushing forward.

“I’m trying to do the right thing, but it isn’t right! Instead of being happy that I’ve got a second chance with Jess, I’m trying to convince myself that salvaging a marriage that’s already shattered is a good choice.” He takes a breath, and steps forward. He wants to close the space between them, wants to remove the barriers between that had raised the moment he’d made the call.

“I’m convincing myself that I should stay in a marriage I don’t want, instead of damn well apologizing –  _grovelling_  - and fighting for the start of a life with you. I’m not expecting this to fix everything – but you needed to know that I am not happy. With what I did, with how I handled things or the fact that I’m not fighting to be with you when I should be. I completely disregarded everything we’d built out of shock – out of not knowing how the hell to handle the situation.”

For the first time in an age, he takes her hand in his. Her fingertips are cold, and his are too warm. Wyatt’s chin wobbles, the threat of tears burning violently behind his eyes. Lucy feels a stunning sensation, as though she has had a physical blow. Words continue to escape her, the beating verse of her racing heart rushing in her ears.

“You saved my life, Luce - changed everything about me for the better. You have brought immeasurable happiness to my life, and I need you to know that. I will spend a lifetime making up for the fact that I was such a bastard to you if I can.”

The words are hanging heavy, but Lucy and Wyatt are awash with a peculiar relief – the relief that follows revelation. For a moment she is considering every word he has spoken, reading between every line and evaluating each emotion across his face. The noise erupts around them again, and the reality of the world comes crashing. They have work to do and history to save. She takes two steps away from his body, staring into his eyes.

“Then fight, Wyatt. Prove to me that this time I won’t be left standing alone.”


	4. Paris, 1947

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris, 1947.  
> In which the time team visit the couture capital and find some time to enjoy a night on the town. 
> 
> Chapters are unbeta'd so apologies for errors.

They had travelled to Paris, February 12 th 1947, during the warmest winter in over seventy years. While they had travelled into the heart of the city, Lucy had been filled with stories; regaling them with tales of post-war France and the impending revolution brewing in the fashion world. 

Wyatt had grinned as she’d spoken, while Rufus had interjected with several jokes about Rittenhouse and evil haute couture. 

When finally they had disembarked to find their mark, all three had been struck with awe at the opulent streets of Paris. Of course, there are streets in every city, but these streets lay before them as complex as cobbled mazes, winding into courtyards and into areas tucked away from prying eyes. Lucy had again begun to regale them, wide eyed. They had found themselves on the Avenue Montaigne, a place in which glamour, wealth and pleasure all presided. 

What they hadn’t expected was to come face to face with Christian Dior himself - on the very day that he would conquer the fashion world -  _ and  _ assist in the revival of the export industry in France. It had all clicked into place mere moments after their introduction. Rittenhouse would be trying create havoc within the French - and eventually European economy. 

Hours later, adrenaline fizzed through their veins after their valiant rescue of Dior and a half-dozen others from a sleeper agent posing as one of the Dior seamstresses. 

In return for their help, Dior had insisted they attend an evening soirée, a private affair he was sure they would love. Wyatt and Rufus had been handed to Dior’s tailors, dressed in only the finest black tie for the evening. Lucy had been taken by the hand with a wink and a smile, off into the depths of the mansion to the private Dior dressing rooms. Attendees swarmed her like bees; powdering her face, rouging her lips and passing through dress after dress until finally she emerged, enrobed in a black silk evening gown with lace cut flowers trailing down her spine. Rufus had whistled and grinned, Wyatt had been rendered entirely speechless at the sight of her.

Her hands had nervously fiddled with the dress as she stood before both men, asking tentatively  _ “Do I look okay?”  _

Wyatt found himself stumbling gracelessly over his words, trying with great desire to say something, anything that might describe how radiant she looked. Rufus had clapped him on the back, laughing heartily at his friend. 

A chauffeur had interrupted his reverie, guiding them into a car and away to a residency mere minutes away. For the first time in an age, the night was theirs. A glamorous, wondrous, splendid night which they could enjoy without the threat of Rittenhouse rearing its head.

The three had sat in awe like silence, Rufus’ eyes following the lines of the Paris streets, while Wyatt and Lucy had tried to break the stares that lingered all too long on each other. Wyatt was resolved in the fact he would be happy to continue driving the streets of Paris all night, so long as he might watch the child-like awe and adoration lit across Lucy’s face. With each corner turned, she seemed to edge closer to the glass, recalling the dreams of visiting the city of light and the reality of being here in the 1940s. 

\---------

Upon their arrival at Dior’s residence, they had found themselves in the company of the designers of the decade; Balmain, Lanvin and Nina Ricci toasting together, laughing with joyful abandon. Dozens of people stood drinking; women dressed in wide skirts, smoking cigarettes from stylish holder,s and men nursing glasses of cognac, hair coiffed with wild eyes. 

Dior had introduced them all under the days aliases to several smaller groups;  _ “This is Angelina Jolie, George Clooney and Denzel Washington.”  _ before handing over heartily poured long stemmed glasses of champagne to toast their health, his wealth and thanks for their assistance. Dior had abandoned them not long afterward, leaving Wyatt and Rufus almost entirely reliant on Lucy to translate the conversations swirling around them. 

The evening had worn on, and all had become drunk on the joy of the night, on the pleasure that comes when one’s mind is swimming with endless flutes of champagne and large measures of cognac and glorious laughter. 

A voice had broken through the chatter of the room, introducing the much longed for guest of the evening - Edith Piaf. In a nondescript black dress she had entered, smoking a cigarette and placing kisses on the cheeks of those she knew. Her cropped, black curly hair bobbed along the crowd until Lucy, Wyatt and Rufus were introduced to the sparrow herself. No sooner had they said hello, she had disappeared again. 

\---------

Around midnight, when most guests were nearly entirely gone with drink, Edith took the stage - and all had fallen into silent awe. With a cough and a roaring laugh, she began singing, hands raised as though conducting an orchestra. 

Lucy had approached Wyatt first, taking his hand silently and leaving behind their companions for the evening. With the click of a lock and the turning of a brass handle, they wandered out onto the balcony and into the Parisian night. The air swirled warm and soft, a gentle caress to the flesh. A breeze lingered on the night; one not quite cold enough to warrant displeasure, but easily banished in the haze of blissful intoxication.

With a soft click, Lucy closed the door behind them and there, finally, they were alone with one another - the muffled voices of the room far behind them. Tonight they were free - free of the terrors that seemed to follow them, free from the heartache and sadness that so often had crept upon them. 

They stood together, shoulder to shoulder with their hands clasped on the wall of the balcony. 

Neither wanted to be the first to speak, to break the calm and the romantic reverie that had held them in a gentle embrace. Rare was their time together, rare was an opportunity to enjoy one another’s company. 

Wyatt watched as Lucy’s eyes watched the horizon, the Eiffel Tower shining bright against the night, a beacon of freedom and light. He watched as her eyes pricked with tears, not of sadness but of wonder - and all at once a surreal feeling befell him. Wyatt is sure they have stepped outside themselves, outside of Lucy and Wyatt, and into a scene from a moving picture. 

Tonight, Edith would sing and all would sip champagne.

Tonight, they were alone and blissfully so.  

As Wyatt moved to speak, applause sounded from behind them, and for a moment he laughs at the interruption. A throat is cleared loudly and the piano begins finding its voice. Finally once more, the voice raw with earthy adoration began again. With a dimpled smile, Lucy turned to Wyatt with an expression lit with joy that he was sure he hadn’t seen in an age. 

“ _ Quand il me prend dans ses bras,  _ _ Il me parle tout bas,  _ _ Je vois la vie en rose”  _

A soft laugh escaped Wyatt’s mouth, his pleasure cemented with a smile so sweet and filled with such charm that Lucy felt sure she may expire. Stepping to his left, Wyatt extended his hand to hers and in a swift motion, Lucy stepped into his arms, taken into a luxurious embrace. A light chill of air rushed riotously up their arms, bringing them together into a tighter embrace that filled Lucy’s senses with the remains of Wyatt’s cologne and the sweet scent of French cognac. 

Lucy begins to hum along with Edith’s voice, and both are reminded of another music filled evening, in another time. Wyatt exhaled a smile, his eyes lighting with a contentment that Lucy is sure she hasn’t seen in too long a time.  Her head falls to his shoulder, and Wyatt holds her tighter once more, trailing his fingers across the silk of her dress. A sigh escapes her lips, and a rush of warmth creeps up Wyatt’s neck. They sway together, languid steps mirroring the other, floating across the notes of Edith’s song, Lucy’s dress gracefully flowing across the air with each careful step. 

Beneath the shimmering stars and the wondrous moon, they sway together and the world falls away. Neither have had this luxury of a lengthy embrace which makes this night all the more sweeter, more wonderful. In lives such as theirs, too easy is it to lose the opportunities for small moments, to lose time for one another. With each step, each moment in the others longed for embrace, they are reminded of the possibilities that await - that the breaks that fall on their time together are not permanent. No matter what lingers over them, they are together. 

After several long moments, Lucy’s head raises from Wyatt’s shoulder, and they still. Their breaths are wavering, bodies pressed together. She leans forward, and as her lips almost touch his, a familiar voice breaks parts them. 

“Guys! Party’s - Oh!” Rufus’s brow and voice raises with realisation that he has interrupted them, a nervous laugh following. “Sorry!” 

Wyatt groans audibly, casting an exasperated glance toward his friend who swiftly disappears behind the voile curtain once more. A smirk crosses their faces, and both shake their heads at the intrusion that has unfortunately befallen them. Lucy leans in so her forehead rests against Wyatt’s, and for a moment they remain together until finally they break their reverie and return to the guests. 

Just before crossing the threshold, a mumbled whisper comes from behind causing Lucy to snort. 

“Clockblocker.”


	5. "Lay your sleeping head, my love..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off the deleted scene from 201 'The War to End All Wars' in which Wyatt finds Lucy asleep.  
> Title comes from the poem 'Lullaby' by W. H. Auden

 

He was exhausted; truly and absolutely exhausted. The weight of the last six weeks of loss, panic, of driving himself mad with planning to get her back, finally saddled itself beside the overwhelming joy of having her home. He hadn’t expected to find her, grenade in hand in the midst of World War One, but when she had finally turned around, she’d been a vision.

For the first time in weeks he would sleep, and he could hardly wait.

Wyatt opened the door, the metal eliciting a heavy groan as it swung open, only to reveal a sight he wasn’t prepared for. Lying in his bed, face surrounded by a halo of unruly brunette hair, was Lucy. He was struck to a pause, unsure of what the exact protocol was when one found someone they loved in their bed – a bed they weren’t supposed to be in. With a steadying breath, he moved to check on her before heading to the couch for the night.

The mint green blanket had fallen off her, and in a vain attempt at staving off the ever present chill of the bunker, Wyatt pulled it up and over her shoulders, tucking it around her. He took another breath, and slowly knelt to her eye level. He gazed at her, following every line of her sleep-softened face.

The exhaustion was all too evident in her, though he could hardly be surprised. He wasn’t sure anyone else had noticed it. The moment she’d stepped back into the bunker and into the welcome embraces of Jiya, Christopher and Mason, he’d seen the slight slump in her shoulders, the blazing light in her eyes buried under a new darkness he’d never seen before. The woman who stood brightest and taller than any, looked smaller than he had ever known possible.

She had excused herself to change, disappearing off into the belly of the bunker and leaving them all behind to discuss the news of Rittenhouse and their newest plot. When he’d found her later, filled with joy to see her standing finally within reach, the reality of the situation hit. Lucy had been betrayed, kidnapped and manipulated by those that professed to love her. He had taken her into his arms and held her tight, promising her she hadn’t lost him. She wouldn’t lose his protection, his comfort - his love, dare he finally admit it. He hadn’t expected the heartache to follow her disappearance; the depth of longing to have her in his sight, in his arms. It had haunted him; followed his every movement and thought until the very moment he had seen her in the tent.

The relief had been almost palpable the second they had reunited. The joy of seeing her again, feeling his arms around her shoulders and seeing the smile crossing her face… Then she’d told him and Rufus her plan, and the sinking feeling of terror had crawled up his spine again. His throat had tightened, and his heart, if he was being honest with himself, had pained terribly. Of course, when her mother had threatened Madame Curie and her daughter, Irene, she’d wasted no time in stepping in to protect them. He admired her tenacity, her fight to protect those through they encountered - but giving up her life as a forfeit for the destruction of Rittenhouse wasn’t an option - no matter how noble her intention. He couldn’t let her die. He wouldn’t so much as entertain the thought of her being gone. He had lived through the tragedy once before, he would not survive it again, he was sure. She had lifted him from a drowning darkness, given him purpose and a reason to believe there could be joy, even for him.

He lingers again for a moment before placing a kiss to her cheek. He is being indulgent, he knows, giving into an action he’d thought about endlessly since Arkansas. He wonders if she would mind – wonders if she would mind his presence by her bed. If he were being truthful, he’s not sure he wants to leave her side full stop. As he had held her earlier, in the most honest of moments, they had almost kissed – almost. As fast as she had held him in her hands, so the moment was suddenly taken away. He hopes, perhaps, that they might be given a chance again – the opportunity to see where their possibilities might take them. He wants the chance. _Please_ , he begs, _a chance to be by her side, to be hers._

Rufus had called him out on those very possibilities mere hours before. Say those words, Wyatt Logan. The words sitting on the tip of his tongue, pushed back between his teeth and a beaming smile. Wyatt had known for a while now, but he couldn’t say it. Not yet.

With a soft smile, he readjusts her blankets and leaves her to sleep. She is here, with their odd little family, cobbled together out of necessity, respect and love. She is safe, he reminds himself. She is safe, and he won’t lose her again.


End file.
